of their cabin,
watching the spring rain falling soft and warm, melting the snow so
quickly that its thickness might be seen visibly diminishing; or,
again, in the month of May, standing at the edge of the forest,
listening to the nightingales singing on the delicate golden branches
of the perfumed birch tree.

Winter passed fairly well, but when the first breath of warm air set
the melted snow streaming down the roofs, which again the night's
frost transformed into long stalactites of ice, Mavra felt a strange,
vague aching in her heart. The house was overheated, and the close,
nauseous air made her sick. What would she not give to run as of old
over the moors, to see if the moss were beginning to appear under the
crystallized, transparent carpet of snow!

"What's the matter with this little girl?" asked the countess one day,
as she stopped before the frame at which the young peasant girl was
diligently working. "She was as fresh as a rose, and now she has grown
yellow. Do you feel pain anywhere, Mavra?"

Mavra raised her blue eyes to the noble lady who, for the second time
in her life, deigned to address her, and replied in her low voice:

"Nowhere, your highness."

"Then why are you so yellow?"

"I don't know, your highness."

The countess dropped her eyeglass and looked kindly at the young
girl.

"I know," said she after a moment's pause; "the child wants air. She
came here from her village, and has passed the whole winter stooping
over her frame. Henceforth, little girl, you must get out into the
fresh air twice a day, and must learn the service of my bedroom; this
will give you exercise."

Thereupon the countess quitted the room, followed by Mavra's grateful
eyes, now filled with tears. From that day Mavra worshipped the
countess; to approach her, to touch what she had worn, to serve her,
to receive her orders and execute them with the utmost speed and
dexterity, was the great joy of this humble girl. Her mistress,
wrapped in all this gorgeous luxury, the elements of which had been
so long under her eyes in the workroom, appeared to her as some august
being nearer her Creator than any other of her fellow-creatures. Not
only did Mavra pray to God for her, but at times she inwardly prayed
to her as to a saint, thinking the pleadings of a being so superior
must have equal weight with the powers of heaven as with those of
earth.

Summer was already on the wane when the noble mansion, habitually so
tranq